The Big Apple
by Mariico
Summary: In the craziness of New York City on New Year's Eve, two strangers find solace in each other.


**Author's Note: **Happy New Year to everyone! Hope you all made your resolutions for the year to come. This idea came to me while I was in the car a couple of days ago, and I decided to type it up. I apologize for the delay of GD and TANK, but I wanted to get this done before New Year's.

I do have a multichaptered story up now. It is completed, and I will be posting the chapters one by one. It's called Insurgence of Obscurity, in case you were interested. That one is more like GD and TANK. This one is more like Two Sides of a Magnet.

It is a oneshot for now, but that might change if I get inspiration.

Enjoy.

* * *

Blasted Dumbledore and his 'good intentions.' Just because the headmaster caught Tom doing something he shouldn't have done didn't give Dumbledore the right to go and _blackmail_ him._ 'Go enjoy yourself_.' Tom sneer to himself. Oh, he was going to enjoy freezing his head off, alright. Knowing Dumbledore, the old codger would be pleased if his head just snapped off.

Tom cast a look around the park. The benches were filled with couples snogging, and the delighted squeals of children rang in the air as they chased each other. The holiday season was in full swing in the city. Tom watched them with disgust. All these people, so foolishly happy, not a care in the world. He was ashamed to be included in the same group as them.

The snow was falling down slowly, much to the delight of the people around him. The little kids chased after it, trying to get a couple to land on their outstretched tongues. Tom paid the falling flakes no mind, sticking his hands inside his pockets. The orphanage would never give him enough money to buy gloves, and there was no way he was going to walk around wearing the gloves that Dumbledore had given him 'out of the goodness of his heart.' He would rather just get frostbite and have his fingers fall off one by one.

Tom leaned against a brick wall, noting that several women were sizing him up and staring at him. He always knew he was handsome, but apparently the bits of snow stuck in his hair further enhanced his looks. Several girls came up to him, giggling and flirting, leaning into him.

'_Hey, are you here alone?_' They would ask. They would try to touch him, but he shied away from them. He did not do it discretely, either, but they hid their disappointment well. _'Would you like to come eat with us?_' More giggling. More inane chatter. His ears, red after being exposed to the cold winter wind, were already in enough pain. He did not have time for this nonsense.

He gave them a deadly, withering glare. The horrified looks on their faces ensured him that it was _very_ effective. Now feeling satisfied, he smirked and bid them farewell, enjoying the absence of the lustful look on their faces. He suddenly wanted to stay with them longer, to strike more fear in their hearts, but they scuttled off with stammered apologies, not once looking back at him.

Dumbledore thought him to be a monster. And perhaps, for once, the headmaster was right. He would have to go on acting more like one from now on.

Tom continued on, taking the crumpled piece of paper out of his pockets and wondering if he could 'accidentally' drop it in the snow, letting it get trampled by the hundreds of people walking through the busy streets of New York. It would never be found. He would have done it as well, except he knew that even if it were a _real_ accident, Dumbledore would still punish him severely. And he was already in enough hot water with him as it was.

Tom gritted his teeth. The headmaster had power, and he knew how to use it. Tom was his puppet; Dumbledore commanded which strings to pull. Tom was nothing but a useless doll compared to him. He, who had all the power and knew all the right people. He, who always suspected Tom and kept an annoying close watch on him.

He had always hated his headmaster. But now, by giving him a list of things to do in the city, Tom's hatred for Dumbledore grew to unparalleled heights. This was a day wasted. A day that could have been spent doing research. Dumbledore was forcing him to walk around a crowded city with temperatures that could freeze hell over.

Suddenly in the mood to do serious harm, he debated at first whether or not to kick the littered soda cans as hard as he could. There were, after all, plenty lying around helplessly on the ground. However, that would degrade his image to a teenager having a temper tantrum, and that he could not deal with. Instead, he walked around and flicked the little kids' ears. For the most part, they shot him a wary look before running to play in the other side of the park. However, one little boy—he could have been no older than eight—ran crying off to his mother. The woman turned around, ready to yell at whoever hurt her little boy, but he was already gone.

It was surprising how easy he could maneuver through the bustling crowd when he was all but invisible to everyone else.

He spotted a woman by herself, wearing a red hat as her small fingers worked deftly to create what Tom assumed to be a snowman. He sneered; the petty humans wasted their precious time with such dim-witted entities. It was truly pathetic.

However, he noticed that she had picked a secluded area to build her snowman, away from the business of the crowd. Where she was, the noise was dimmed, and the only thing she could see was the white snow and the snowman in front of her.

It was her seclusion that caused Tom to join her.

He snuck up behind her, not wanting to scare her but not wanting her to notice him either. He watched her for a few moments, but she was so enthralled by her creation that she wasn't aware that he was behind her. He considered heaving snow down her shirt and watching her skin turn a delicious shade of blue, but that would involve him touching the snow as well. And he was still gloveless.

He did not know why he was over here anymore, so desperate to converse with a girl when he had been so eager to avoid the others only seconds ago. Perhaps it was because she was so peaceful, not joining in the festive mood of the city surrounding her. She was isolated, by herself, all alone. Just like he was.

He reached over and knocked her snowman down.

The girl stared in shock as all her hard work fell in to pieces in front of her. She whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at him. She was rather plain, Tom noted. There was not too much special about her. Brown curls fell near her shoulders, and her face was twisted up in an angry scowl. She was not beautiful like all the girls who flirted with him, but at least she had the dignity to remain angry at him rather than declaring her love once she got a good look at him.

"You!" she screeched at him. "I worked hard on that!" Tom smirked at her, which only served to enrage her even more. Now that he finally got a good look at her, he saw that her eyes were hollow and dark circles underlined them. She looked _empty_. Even though she was currently screaming at him, she seemed to be emotionless.

She reached down and picked up the remains of her snowman and cluttered it up into a poorly made ball. Reacting instinctively, he grabbed her wrist roughly. He was not in the mood to get pelted in the face by a snowball.

"I'm sure we could sort things out," Tom said smoothly, holding her wrist at an angle so she couldn't somehow flick the snow at him. "Things don't need to get any messier."

Without warning, the girl's other arm flicked up and connected with his nose, causing a sickening crack. He nearly fell over, but instead caught himself on one of the lamp posts, saving the last remaining shreds of his dignity. He pressed down on his nose, and pain shot through his body. Blood stained his hand.

The girl was looking at him in horror. "I'm so sorry!" She apologized profusely. "I don't like being touched, and you took me by surprise when you grabbed me. But who am I kidding? That is not an excuse for this. Here, let me look at it."

Before he could do anything, she thrust his hands away from his nose and stuck her face close to his. "It looks like it's broken," she commented.

"No shit, Sherlock," Tom muttered. He glared at her angrily, trying to figure out which type of punishment he should employ on her.

The girl appeared to not have heard him, because he found himself being dragged by the arm through the snow. "They rent bicycles near here," she told him. "It's not far from here, so just hang on for a little longer."

"This is hardly the time to go cycling," Tom said icily, aware that people were staring at the blood running freely from his nose. He made sure that none of it dripped on his clothes; the orphanage only provided him with food and shelter. Everything else had to be bought by himself, and Tom didn't want to waste the small amount of money on clothes.

"We're not going cycling, silly." The girl rolled her eyes, as if it were somehow _his_ fault that his nose was suddenly broken. "I'm taking you to the doctor. You are in no condition of going yourself, and this is partially my fault."

"_Entirely_ your fault," Tom corrected, watching greedily as she took out a large amount of money and handed it to the bicycle renter. How did she have that much money? Why did _she_ have so much, yet he had nothing more but a few pennies in his pockets?

"_Partially_," the girl said. "This teaches you that you ought to not grab strangers. Not many people like being touched." She thanked the bicycle renter as he wheeled out a tandem bike. She sat in the front seat and looked at him expectantly.

"No."

She raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"I'm not riding in that ugly thing."

"By all means, go bleed all over the ground if you want."

"I'll walk there," Tom gritted, staring in disgust at the ugly vehicle.

"You'll die of blood loss before you get halfway there." A pause. "I was kidding. Come on, just get on. Swallow your pride of once, will you? You're already bleeding all over the place. You don't really have much dignity left."

"And whose fault is that?" Tom asked icily, but he did as he was told and clamored on, making sure to keep all his body parts from touching the girl.

The girl started pedaling slowly. He would have walked faster, and he was considering doing exactly that. "What's your name?" she asked finally, steering to avoid a family bicycling in the opposite direction.

Tom thought of the troublesome boy who was the reason Dumbledore found out about his misdoings. The boy he was going to have to teach a lesson to. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut. "Sam," he said.

"What a coincidence, my name is Sam too!" The girl laughed. It was obvious that she was lying, and she knew he was lying, but neither of them said anything about it. Both of them let each other lie in peace. "So, what brings you to New York City, Sam?"

"Punishment."

The girl was silent for a couple of moments, before she unexpectantly laughed. Tom stared at her back in surprise. That certainly was not the reaction he had been expecting. "Well, that's the first time I've heard that," she admitted. "It's nice. Different is nice. You certainly don't lack creativity."

"You're not going to inquire about them?"

Tom couldn't see her face, but he could almost see her raise an eyebrow. "Why would I ask? It's your business. I could hardly care less." There was another pause. Tom found that she did it often, to gather her thoughts lest she blurted out something stupid. "Well, actually, I am curious, but like I said, it's your business and it's really—"

"Yes, yes," Tom sighed, cutting off her rambling. "That's very interesting."

She huffed. "Well, _sorry_ for elaborating." She paused again. "I know you're here for punishment and all, but the city is really beautiful. There are a lot of attractions you might want to check out. Most of them are free, and the ones you have to pay for are worth the money. You might find that you'll enjoy yourself. As punishment goes, this one doesn't seem particularly bad."

"That would be helpful," Tom said icily, "If I actually had money."

The girl stopped the bike, and Tom realized that they were already there. She turned to look at him, and understanding look in her eyes. Tom couldn't help but realize that there was still a tired look in her eyes. It was no longer as obvious, but it was still present.

"Now, that won't do. You have to enjoy yourself here, punishment or not." She thrust a vast amount of money into his arms. He counted tens and hundreds. He gawked at her for awhile, before staring down greedily.

"Use some of that to cover the medical bill," she instructed. "The remaining money you can use for whatever you want. Treat yourself to a hotdog or something. They are street vendors and restaurants everywhere. I'm sure you'll find something to your liking."

He noticed the sadness in her eyes as she bid him farewell, pedaling down the busy streets of New York by herself, the seat behind her noticeably empty.

She looked very lonely indeed.

* * *

It turned out his nose wasn't broken. He couldn't tell the condition of his face since there were no floating mirrors in the city—what a pity—and the girl had clearly exaggerated the damage she had done to him. Nevertheless, the doctors managed to stop and bleeding and managed to patch it up for him. At first, he wanted to leave without paying, but after receiving some pointed looks and a couple of forced coughs, he was forced to reluctantly hand over some of his precious money.

Back on the crowded streets, he looked at the next item on the list. '_Grimaldi's Pizzari_,' it read. Was Dumbledore concerned about his _wellbeing_? Tom scoffed at that notion. The stupid headmaster probably poisoned the pizza. That had to be the reason. Dumbledore wouldn't normally care about what Tom ate.

Tom heard the crowd before he even saw the sign.

People were clumped in groups in front of the restaurant, chatting happily as they waited for their turn to be admitted into the building. People who actually had gloves to prevent their hands from freezing off. Tom wanted to turn around and leave, but he remembered Dumbledore's promise of expelling him if he did not go through with everything on the list. With great difficulty, he forced himself to stay, jamming his hands into his pockets and annoyed by the flirty looks some of the women gave him. He usually enjoyed the attention, but he could hardly care less now.

After a couple of minutes, he wished he had brought earplugs with him. He did not think it would be necessary, but then again, he had not anticipated such a long line. How good could they make pizza, anyway? They were all just the same. Did this one attract more customers because the sign was bigger?

Something bumped into his back, and a familiar voice apologized in his ear. The city was huge; how could two strangers meet for the second time in just a matter of minutes?

"Hello, Sam," he said smoothly, turning around and greeted with the sight of the woman with the red cap. Her hair looked messy, and she was slightly out of breath, as if she had been running. She had probably wanted to get here before the line got too long. Evidently, she had been too late.

"Sam!" The girl greeted cheerfully, looking happier than she had when he had last saw her. Perhaps she had been caught up in her moment of nostalgia, and now she was back to normal. However, even that did not hide the fact that she was still all by herself. "What are you doing here?"

Tom just gave her a pointed look.

The girl wrinkled her nose. "I love the pizza here, but the lines are always so long around this time. It'll probably be at least an hour until we get anywhere close to the door. I should have got here earlier. What a bummer." She sighed. "But they really do make the best pizzas."

"All pizzas are the same," Tom said offhandedly.

The girl glared at him. "That's just rude. I'm sure Grimaldi's pizzas are very offended right now. I would prove you wrong, but the line is a tad too long for my liking, and I probably won't even be in the mood by the time we get up there. Let's go get some hotdogs, okay? You can't fulfill your city experience without buying something from the street vendors."

"I wasn't aware that we were doing things together now."

The girl held up her hands. "Suit yourself. We'll buy hotdogs from different vendors then."

Nevertheless, Tom followed her to buy her food, mostly to get her to pay for them so he wouldn't have to use his money. He checked on it every five seconds to make sure some petty thief hadn't stolen it. Tom took a bite of his hotdog and grimaced, chucking the rest of it into a nearby trashcan.

"Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best place to start," the girl admitted as she too chucked her food into the trash and took a long sip of soda. "But street vendors are usually good if you want a quickie, especially during New Year's. The lines for restaurants are too long. And who needs food here, anyway? The more time you spend eating, the less time you get to see all the attractions."

"You seem to know a lot about the city," Tom commented, mostly to stop a rant that he could sense was coming. He knew her type. The know-it-all. The chatterbox. The person who wouldn't shut up.

But she had given him money, so he supposed he could tolerate a bit more of her. Maybe she would give him more money.

"Oh, I don't know that much. I rarely come here after all," the girl replied. "However, I do make the most of the few times I do come here. It takes about an hour by car to get me here, so I cherish whatever I can when I get the chance to. It's not good to spend all that fuel coming here and not look at the attractions."

"Why are you here alone?" He asked sharply. She looked at him, surprised, but the hollowness had returned to her eyes. "Why aren't you celebrating the coming of a new year with your family and friends at home?"

"Why do you want to know?" She looked at him suspiciously.

Tom merely smirked. "Know thy enemy." The girl raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on his choice of words.

She sighed, taking a moment to think and pick her words before she continued. "New Year's is a chance for a new beginning. That would mean embracing the future," the girl said softly. "But I don't want to do that. All I really want to do is remember the past."

* * *

She suggested the Apple store next, which Tom was a bit suspicious about. He wondered if she had taken the note out of his pocket and looked at it, but if she did, she did a very good job at hiding it. Then, he got the notion that perhaps she was working for Dumbledore, and his face consorted into an angry scowl and his hands balled up in tight fists. Anyone associated with that stupid headmaster was an enemy in his book.

If she noticed his sudden anger, she didn't comment on it.

"This definitely is not the place I would go for New Year's. Way too many people. But as it seems as if you aren't going to come back here any time soon, you might as well get the full experience," the girl said, squeezing through the massive amounts of people. Tom shot all of them a deadly glare, but none of them were paying enough attention to him to notice. He wondered what it had come to to have a _girl_ drag him around the city. The girl seemed to believe they were acquaintances—_friends_, even. That notion disgusted him. He would have to fix that impression later.

She took him upstairs, and he stared at the ground in disgust. "What is _this_?" he snarled.

"It's a piano, Sam. Surely you've seen one before." She didn't seem bothered by the hundreds of kids crawling on it, spreading their disgusting germs everywhere. Instead, she jumped on happily, stamping her feet. She held her hand out for Tom to join her.

He didn't budge.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged. "You're the one missing all the fun."

"Yes, it is extraordinarily fun in this germ factory," Tom said darkly. "I'm leaving."

He turned to go—after all, Dumbledore had only said he had to _be_ in the Apple store. He didn't specify how long he had to stay. It was best not to let the headmaster know, though, that Tom had found a flaw in his plan. Dumbledore would start specifying each individual time the next time he decided to blackmail Tom.

He had barely taken a step away from the giant piano when her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stay. He took a moment to marvel at how small her hands were. So delicate. So easy to break.

"Careful," he said. "You wouldn't want me to break your nose." His eyes glinted. It had been awhile since he had done bodily harm to something else. Perhaps a more secluded area with her would calm his hunger.

But fortunately for the girl, he was saving that moment for when he finally got home. Sam, the boy who ratted him out, would go _missing_ for awhile. He had planned the perfect location and had planted the perfect alibi for himself. Even Dumbledore wouldn't have evidence to accuse him.

"Don't be silly," she chirped. She looked happier here, with all these disgusting children crowded around her. She sure had an absurd idea of entertainment. "I said that strangers shouldn't grab strangers. But we're not exactly strangers now, are we?"

"Don't delude yourself."

The girl merely smiled and began singing a song Tom could only assume was an attempted version at a Christmas carol. She tried to play the tune with her feet as well, but she kept getting blocked by other people, so eventually she just gave up and shifted her weight from feet to feet, playing the same two notes forever.

She finally—_thankfully_—finished her singing and got off the piano. She caught the sour look on his face and giggled. "I know I'm tone deaf," she said. "There's no need to rub it in further. I've heard every insult in the book."

Tom only grunted, happy for once that the chatter of the store had masked most of her singing. His poor ears had dealt with enough torture today.

"But you stayed!" she exclaimed happily, steering them back toward the exit. She didn't ask him why, and even if she did, Tom didn't have an answer for her. He supposed he just didn't feel like leaving. "Thank you for staying. This place has a lot of memories that I often forget about until I get here." She looked sadly over at the piano, the place where she had just been seconds ago. "It's just that…I miss him _so_ much. He taught me how to play the piano, you know?"

"Who?"

At the sound of his voice, she jumped out of her memories. "Sorry, it's nothing. Don't want to bother you with my problems." She scrubbed her eyes furiously, and Tom pretended not to notice. He hated when people cried; it was a disgusting sign of weakness. "Where's your next destination? I'll take you there."

"Rockefeller Center. I have to go ice-skating." Tom decided to let her previous moment slide. He could inquire about it later, when she was more trusting of him. And she seemed to be lonely, desperate for company. She would probably follow him around for the remainder of the day. He was fine with that; he was intrigued by her motivation as well.

"Do you know how to ice-skate?"

"No."

"Well, then it looks like I have to teach you. Sam, you're not the king of the world. You realize that shouting at New York City traffic will get you nowhere but killed."

"They are inferior. They should be listening to me." A car swerved around Tom, and the driver leaned out the window and gave Tom the middle finger before continuing on. Tom scowled darkly, but let himself get dragged back onto the sidewalk. The girl let out a sigh with relief, happy that they had made it across a street intersection without getting killed. Only dozens more to go. It would be a miracle if they somehow made it all the way there without getting hit.

"…if only all things worked that way."

* * *

"You were not kidding."

Tom said nothing, but merely glared at her his spot at the ground. Two seconds after he had stepped into the rink wearing these ridiculous skates, he had fallen over and nearly gave himself a concussion by slamming his head against the ice. Now, unable to get up, he resorted to merely glaring at the girl, who was gliding happily a couple of feet away from him.

"Need help?" she asked, extending an arm toward him.

"I don't need help from _you_," Tom said bluntly, trying but failing to get back on his feet again.

The girl looked slightly offended, but shrugged it off. "Suit yourself," she said, and then sped off. Even through the mass of people, he could still see her—her and her ridiculous red cap stood out in the crowd. She wove through the couples spinning together, ducking around the children stumbling and falling around her. She had an elegant grace to her. Tom noted with jealousy that she never even came close to falling down. It was an area where she beat him in. An area in which he lost.

He would have to learn how to ice-skate later. Tom Riddle never lost. Ever.

The girl made her way back toward him and stopped. "Are you sure you don't want help?" She inquired. "I actually know how to teach, so you can rest assured that I'll be teaching you the right things. I brought my friend to an ice-skating rink for his birthday and taught him how to skate." When Tom still refused to budge, she sighed and plopped down next to him.

Tom noticed how she was so willing to get down to be next to him when he was so desperate to rise up.

"It wasn't this rink, of course," the girl said, taking Tom's silence as a chance to start storytelling. Unfortunately for him, he could do nothing more than listen. He could hardly escape. He wondered if this was Dumbledore's plan—to forever trap him in this rink. "This is way too expensive to be giving lessons every day. We went to a rink closer to where we lived. The lessons started on his birthday, and he always said that it was his favorite birthday gift." She let out a short laugh. "Personally, I think he was just trying to make me feel better."

Tom wondered if this friend of hers was the same as the guy she said she missed in the Apple store.

The girl pondered thoughtfully, before she cast him a sideways glance. "When's your birthday?" she asked suddenly.

"Today."

"_Today_?" The girl repeated, her eyes growing wide. "As in, today today?"

Tom gave her a pointed look.

"How could you not mention anything?" She all but screeched at him, causing several people to glance over at her. "It's your birthday, and you're in New York City! How could you be sulking around? Happy Birthday, my namesake. Hope the day was fun for you so far. Oh, what was I thinking? I should've made you wait on line for Grimali's Pizzaria. Even if it was long, you deserve that pizza on such a special day."

"There's nothing special about it," Tom said icily. "It's just another day."

"It's the day your mother gave birth to you." The girl chatted on happily, not noticing the dark look passing over Tom's face. "Of course it's special. Shouldn't you be celebrating with your family?"

Suddenly, Tom's hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed her by her throat. He was on alert in case the girl decided to punch his nose again, but she did no such thing. It looked like he was already trusted to some degree. He would break that trust now.

The happy look slid off her face, replaced by a look of fear. He was pleased. He _should_ be feared. The girl should not feel comfortable with talking to him. This whole friendship pretense that the girl thought they had would have to go.

"Do not," he said darkly, making sure to emphasize each word by squeezing her delicate neck a little tighter. "Talk as if you know a single, damn thing about me."

He released her, and she dropped against the ice, gasping for air. Leaving her in her weakened state, he began to slowly crawl over to the exit. He did not cast her a backwards glance.

He was nearly trampled and decided to move towards the wall and use it to get back on his feet. He saw a lot of little kids employ this tactic, and while he _despised_ being compared to them, it was better than having to crawl around like a slave.

He noticed another woman approaching the girl he had almost choked just a couple seconds ago. "Are you alright, sweetie?" The woman asked, glancing warily at him. "Would you like me to call the police?"

Tom's knuckles turned white. If the woman called the police, it was over for him. There had been hundreds of witnesses. What had he been _thinking_, doing it in the middle of the rink? Couldn't he have picked a more secluded area? Dumbledore would no doubt use it as an excuse to ship him off to prison. There was _evidence_. His headmaster would have a field day.

But how would he get over to the woman to stop her before she dialed the numbers? He was much too far away, and even if he was close enough, he couldn't do anything to her without committing another crime. He could kill off the entire rink and even there would still be evidence. There were too many video cameras around.

The girl—whose real name he still did not know—surprised him by saying, "Oh, no. It's alright. It was partially my fault, and he reacted instinctively. Thank you for your concern, ma'am, but everything is all right. Have a happy New Year."

Before Tom had a chance to turn around, he was being hauled to his feet. "There," the girl said, moving him slowly over toward the wall so he could lean on it. "That wasn't so bad, was it? You just have to swallow your pride sometimes. If you don't, you'll just have to do everything the hard way."

Tom stared at her, wondering why she wasn't running away from him. He had nearly just choked her, and she was still here, helping him get to the exit. She had protected _him_. It was such a foreign concept in his mind. The girl made no sense to him.

She caught him looking at her and sighed. "What you did was unforgivable," she told him. "I understand that you may get angry, but there's no excuse for nearly killing someone. You should really think about the consequences of your actions." Her eyes softened a fraction. "But, I see that it was a subject that was a sore topic for you, and I crossed the line. I apologize for that."

Tom _really_ could not make any sense of her.

She nudged him in the side. "Come on, not everyone is a big meanie like you are. I have no problem with apologizing." She laughed as they finally circled around and got to the exit. Tom was more than relieved to get out of rink. "Though, consider yourself warned. If you do anything suspicious, I will not hesitate to phone the police. And if you try to do anything to me, I am not as helpless as I seem." She smiled innocently at him.

"I don't doubt that."

It was said sarcastically, but she seemed to have missed it. Instead, she beamed at him and said, "Where are we going next? Museums? Broadway? Pick your place."

He had the sudden, overwhelming need to tell her his name. So he did. "Tom."

The girl blinked for awhile, and then realization dawned her face. "Ah, you look much more like a Tom than a Sam, in my mind." She smiled at him. "I'm Hermione."

Tom noticed that both of them avoided their surnames. Tom, because he hated anything that reminded him of his disgusting father. He wondered what her reason was.

* * *

"Don't be a lazy bum. It's not that high."

"Not that high?" Tom raised an eyebrow. "This building is one hundred and two floors high. Twenty stairs per floor. That's two thousand and forty steps to climb."

"I spent an awful lot of money so we could get the pass that avoids all the people," she informed him. "If you keep complaining, I will send you to the bottom and have them charge you." She sighed. "Suck it up. We're almost there."

"Meaning that we're two steps up."

"Details, details." Hermione waved him off. "So, what type of punishment was it?" He noticed that she was on constant alert. "Or is that crossing the line as well?"

"My headmaster caught me doing something I shouldn't have," Tom said offhandedly, not paying much attention to the conversation. These stairs were much too narrow and winding for his taste. He wondered if he could quietly slip away and leave. However, he now felt in debt to this girl—first, she had given him money. Then, he had saved his life by not reporting him to the police.

He didn't like owing anyone anything.

"Your headmaster sounds nice." Hermione rolled her eyes as Tom shot her a glare. "What? If I had done anything bad, my headmaster wouldn't send me to _New York City_. What type of punishment is that?"

"He does everything he can to annoy me," Tom said coldly. "He knows I do not enjoy this."

"You can't say you don't enjoy this even the tiniest bit," Hermione said. "Don't you love walking around, seeing all the people with the festive mood in the air? All the happy people around you, looking forward to the New Year?"

"It's disgusting."

"Well, guess you can't please everyone." She shrugged it off. Other than the time where he had destroyed her snowman, she did not show any rage toward him. It annoyed him how calm she seemed about this whole ordeal.

"Who died?"

Hermione blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"Give me some credit. I can work out things when I see it." He shot her a haughty smile. "The one you were crying about in the Apple store."

"Out of all the methods, you managed to pick the most insensitive way to ask," Hermione muttered under her breath. She inhaled deeply. "Ron was my spouse. We were supposed to get married this spring."

"You're young to be married."

Hermione managed a tired smile. "We've been together for as long as I remember," she said softly. "I can't imagine my life without him. Even now, I cling to the past. I'm unwilling to let him go." She paused. "I'm scared that he'll leave my memory forever."

"Is he the ice-skating guy?" Tom thought of how much he wanted to murder this Ron guy. Yet another person who could ice-skate better than he could.

"Oh, no. Ron was much like you. He couldn't skate for his life." Hermione chuckled, ignoring the dark glare Tom gave her. "That was Harry. Harry, Ron and I were best friends. We grew up together. We experienced the joys of life and lost our innocence together. When Ron proposed to me and I accepted, Harry proposed to Ron's sister—"

"Typical."

Hermione glared at him. "That was just rude and unnecessary."

Tom shrugged, though he was still smirking.

"What about you?" She countered. "Your headmaster made you come here as a punishment to some sort of crime. What did you do? How bad could it have been?"

Tom looked at her, an evil glint in his eye. "You don't want to know."

"Try me," she challenged boldly.

They locked gazes. "I lured a boy into a dark cave," he said slowly, making sure she caught on to his every word. "It was dark. He was helpless; he could not see anything. He stumbled around and screamed for a bit. I decided to put him out of his misery." He smiled eerily. "_Slowly_."

Hermione didn't even flinch, much to his disappointment. "Why don't you tell the truth?"

"Are you calling me a liar?" Tom asked smoothly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, because I would definitely send my student to the city after he just killed one of his classmates." Hermione rolled her eyes. "That would definitely be the best course of action."

"I stole his money."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That's not that bad. It's not _good_, of course, but I was expecting something worse."

"You seem awfully calm about spending time with a criminal." Tom tilted his head slightly. "Was your lover boy also a thief?"

"There's no need to bring Ron into this." Hermione scowled. "How much money did you steal?"

"Only a little. That pig did not have much money anyway," Tom sneered. "He caught me skinning someone else's pet rabbit as well, but he did not have any evidence. So he decided to punish be for thievery."

"You skinned someone's rabbit?" Hermione asked, looking a little pale.

Tom smiled innocently. "Of course I did. It was alive as well."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, but once again Tom marveled the fact that she made no move to run away from him.

"Today is not a day to be judgmental about the past," she said finally. "It is a day where everyone is supposed to be happy."

Tom raised his eyebrow. _That_ was her excuse for staying with him? She wanted everyone to be _happy_?

"Don't give me that look," Hermione scoffed. "I told you already, I can take care of myself."

There was no one else anywhere near them. With a small smirk, he pinned her against the wall in one fluent motion. "What would you do now?" he breathed, observing the way her mouth curved, the tilt of her head, the softness of her hair. "There is no one here to save you."

He was expecting her to punch him in the nose again, but he was unprepared when she raised a knee and kneed him in his groin. He let out a startled cry and fell against the wall, leaning heavily against it for support.

"Ron was always worried about my wellbeing, so he sent me to learn ways I could protect myself," Hermione said, giving Tom a moment to catch his breath. He glared at her, and she merely smiled back cheekily. "I might not be able to beat you, but I can protect myself for long enough to give me an opening to run away."

"I will get you back for that," Tom vowed, managing to stand up straight again.

"Promises, promises," Hermione sighed. "Come along. Only a couple more stairs. We're nearly at the top."

True to her word, they arrived at the top. She leaned over the railing and looked out the window, sadness etched on her face as she looked at the stories below her.

"Sometimes, I just want to jump off a building," she said softly as Tom joined her. "That way, I can control when I die. I wonder what I would think, though, when I'm in the air and falling to my death. Would I regret my decision halfway?"

"You're suicidal," Tom said. He never would've guessed by looking at her. Aside from the sadness that always seemed to reside in her, she had seemed like a pretty cheerful person otherwise.

"Oh, no, of course I'm not." Hermione shook her head. "It's just…Ron died in a car accident, you know? It wasn't even his fault; the other driver had drunk a bit too much before getting in the car. I can't help but think how he must have felt. One second he's driving along, the next second it's all gone. Bam, you're dead." She paused. "We all have to die one day, so why not ensure that you can decide _when_ you can die? _How _you die? Sometimes, I hate life and its unpredictability."

Tom had never been very good at comforting others. So, instead, he said, "Not _everyone_ has to die."

"Are you one of those people who believe in immortality?" Hermione asked warily. She sighed when he said nothing. "I suppose I can't make fun of it. Everyone has their own beliefs." She looked at him. "It must be nice to believe in eternal life. Though, I'm not sure what I would do if I could live forever. I would probably get bored after a couple centuries."

Tom raised an eyebrow. Even with eternity, he would never get bored. There was just simply too much things to be done. "Read all the books?" he suggested.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, that'd be nice." She paused. "But there are just so many. And even after you finish all the ones that have been written, they just keep coming and coming."

* * *

After staring at the city for a couple more moments, the two of them began to head back downstairs. It was then that they discovered that Dumbledore was trickier than Tom gave him credit for.

Their suspicions arose when they both suggested watching the apple drop for New Year's. Then, surprisingly, Hermione pulled out a list that was identical to the one Tom had in his pocket.

"Oh, he was your headmaster?" Hermione said absentmindedly. "I didn't realize. He seemed like a nice man."

Tom glared at her. "What's your relationship with him?"

"I barely know him," she admitted. "I've been sulking around by myself for quite awhile now. Harry and Ginny—Ron's sister—invited me to join their party, but I didn't want to intrude. Ron's mother later told me to visit Dumbledore. She said he would help me get through this time." She gave a small laugh. "I was thoroughly surprised when he gave me a list of things to do in the city."

"Dumbledore is a fool," Tom hissed, crumpling up his list in a ball and chucking it into a nearby trashcan.

"Oh, give the man some credit. He did this perfectly. I didn't suspect a thing until now." She smiled at him. "Besides, we got to spend the day together, didn't we? Wasn't it much more enjoyable than wandering around by yourself?"

"No."

"You're a liar." Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. "A very good one, but a liar all the same."

Then she dragged him to Times Square.

"It looks like we're here too late," Hermione said, pointing out the obvious. Rows and rows of people were in front of them, looking up eagerly at the gigantic ball high in the sky. Tom, even though he prided himself with being tall, could not see a thing. "Oh well, as long as we get to experience everything, we don't need to see the actual ball."

"This is pathetic," Tom snarled as a couple bumped into him, sending him into Hermione. "Watch where you're going," he warned darkly, but the couple had already disappeared, swallowed up in the bustling crowd. There was no one left to hear him.

No one besides the girl next to him.

"I've never been in the city at this time," Hermione chatted excitedly. "I always watched it on television, but you miss the atmosphere that way." She had to shout to be heard now. "Do you know that the people in the very front have been waiting here for a really long time?"

He could hardly care less.

"Come on, lighten up a bit." She nudged him with her hip and beamed at him. She looked just like a kid, begging for attention. Without thinking, Tom reached over and wound an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.

There was a questioning look in her eyes, but she did not look angry. "Tom?"

"I'm cold," he said shortly. It was all he gave as an explanation.

Hermione didn't move from her spot. Instead, she rested her head gently on his shoulder and swayed slightly, humming a song under her breath. Her soft hair hung off his shoulder, her breaths coming out in cold puffs that fanned between them so it was impossible to tell where his ended and hers started.

They must have stood there for hours, but it seemed like only a matter of minutes when he could start to hear the countdown. Five more minutes until New Year. Five more minutes until his day ended and he could go home.

He looked down at the girl.

"What's your New Year's resolution?" Hermione called over the noisy crowd. "Any dirty secrets I should know about?"

Tom was amused. He had more secrets that anyone would care to know about. "Not really."

"My New Year's resolution is to move on," she said. "I won't ever forget Ron, of course, but he would not have wanted me to cling to his memory like I am doing now. I'm going to start over this year. Brand new. This year, a terrible tragedy occurred to me. I want to start over. Enjoy life like I used to."

She was just babbling nonsense by now, but he didn't tell her to be quiet. It was sort of comforting, in an odd way.

"Ten," the crowd started chanting. He still couldn't see a thing, and neither could Hermione, though that didn't seem to bother the girl. She was bouncing around excitedly. Tom admired the soft glow of her persona. She was worth a million of anyone else.

"Nine."

"It's almost New Year's!" Hermione began talking to herself. "A new year. A new beginning. This is so exciting."

"Eight."

"What do I have to do this year? Oh yes, I need to buy Ginny a wedding dress and make sure to visit my parents a couple times so they don't think I've died."

"Seven."

"I also need to help decorate the baby room. Can you believe it? Ginny's having a kid. _Ginny!_"

"Six."

There was no sound from her.

"Five."

"…I wish _I_ had kids."

"Four."

"I love you, Ron. I miss you, Ron." Tom pretended he didn't hear this.

"Three."

"I wish you could be here with me. But I'm moving on, you see? Just like you always wanted me to. I'll never forget you though. Never."

"Two."

She was crying. Tom was dumbfounded.

"One."

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" She screamed in Tom's ear, along with everyone else in Times Square. He had been so sure she had been crying, but now there was nothing but happiness on her face. She sure could change her mood around quickly.

Or perhaps they hadn't been sad tears at all.

"Happy New Year's, Tom!" She hugged him, surprising him. Some confetti began falling on his head, but he paid it no notice at all. He looked at the girl in front of him, struggling to move on past a death of a loved one. That was why he never loved another. It was simply too much of a hassle, and humans were too vulnerable and could be snapped easily.

He did not have time for such foolishness.

However, Hermione looked up at him, a beam on her face. Her eyes shone radiantly, and she smiled gently at him.

He did not love her. No. But he supposed he liked her enough to do what he did next.

Without thinking—he seemed to be doing that a lot recently—he lifted her chin up with her fingers. She shot him a quizzical look, but before she could say anything, he closed the gap between their faces.

It was a gentle kiss, much unlike all his others had been. They had been fueled by lust and were often rough and filled with clothes ripping. This one was slow and gentle. He did not have an overwhelming need to anything more.

He had barely got his tongue in her mouth when she pulled away. Her face was flushed, and she put a hand on her lip and stared at him in shock. It was not the reaction he had been hoping for. Dazed, lustful, maybe. But that was what he expected of all the other girls. Hermione was different.

"I…" she trailed off, gathering her thoughts. "I'm sorry, but I think you misunderstood my meaning when I said I was going to move on. I did not mean I was going to start dating again right away. I meant that I would try and go back to the things I used to do." She paused. "Ron just died, and I just met you."

"Right," Tom said, his voice emotionless. He didn't know why he did it anymore. As a matter of fact, half the things he did with her on New Year's Eve he did not know why he did.

"Yes, well, I suppose it's time to get going." Hermione dusted off the invisible snowflakes off her coat. "Better get out of here before everyone else gets the same idea. We'll be stuck here forever." She smiled at him, but he did not return the gesture. "How did you get here?"

"Train."

"Look Tom…"

That was an accident," Tom said offhandedly, enjoying the way a hurt expression crossed her face. "It won't happen again." He said nothing more on the matter.

"I suppose I deserved that." Hermione sniffed. "Come, then. I'll take you to Grand Central station. We can say our farewells there."

* * *

"So here it is," Hermione said with a fake cheerfulness in her voice. Tom clutched his train ticket—once again, purchased by her—in his hand. The two of them stood, waiting for the train that would come in a matter of minutes. "It has been nice meeting you, Tom."

He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I wasn't trying to lead you on," she said honestly. "I'm not one of those girls that kisses after one date. I need more time to build up foundation with the other person. It was nothing against you personally."

"You thought that was a date?" Tom raised an eyebrow, a cruel remark on the tip of his tongue.

Hermione shrugged. "Sure. An outing. Whatever you want to call it."

"Why would anyone want to date _you_?"

Hermione's shoulder sagged slightly. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she said quietly. "No one wants damaged goods, after all."

The train on the other side arrived, and the noise of the frantic people trying to get off and on filled the air. A family of redheads got off, and Tom did not miss the way Hermione looked at them with envy.

Apparently, she hadn't moved on at all.

"I just want to thank you, Tom, when I still have the chance," Hermione said. "You showed me—though perhaps not in the nicest of ways—that I could still enjoy life. I guess that moving on is going to be a lot harder than I thought, but I'll work on it." She gave him a smile, not minding that he was doing whatever he could to make her life miserable. "I really appreciate it, Tom."

He still said nothing. But something in his face must have changed—what exactly, he did not know—because Hermione's smile grew wider.

"I liked meeting you," she said as his train pulled into the station, the wind blowing her brown curls in her face. She laughed and brushed them away. She looked more cheerful already, a fraction of the strong girl she used to be.

"I understand if you want nothing to do with me," Hermione continued, even after Tom had stood up. "But I would like to see you again if that's okay with you. Maybe I can show you some more attractions if you'd like." She paused. "Oh! I almost forgot."

Before he could step on the train, Hermione spun him around and smashed her lips to his. He stood, frozen, aware of the catcalls and whistling that he could hear behind him. Before he could react, though, she stepped back, her lips twisted in a crazy grin.

"That was for earlier," she explained. "I don't like owing people." She patted his arm. "Now, travel safe, Tom. Remember," she called out as the door was closing. "You still have to beat me in ice-skating."

He did indeed.

He sat down and saw her waving like a madman outside the train. He only smirked at her—he did not wave, or blow kisses—but that was enough for her. She nodded her head one more time in a farewell—though it seemed to be a temporary one for now—and started walking back to the exits.

He thought he saw a ghost of a redheaded boy walk in the opposite direction. He passed Hermione when she walked up the stairs.

She didn't stop.

_**Fin**_


End file.
